


Better Bedfellows

by PickledGinger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickledGinger/pseuds/PickledGinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke's decision to attend university at Kirkwall U was made much easier when her family inherits an old brownstone from her late uncle Gamelan. Taking over as landlord and getting a few roomies means that life is never boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There are strangers in my house

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting here! hopefully I get better at it!

12:10…  
I check my phone for the fifth time in so many minutes. From noon ‘til four, I said. I did say that, right? Yes. I’m sure I did. I should know. I was there. Ha. I snorted at my own thoughts before checking my phone again.

“You know checking that thing, isn’t going to make time move faster, right?”

I sighed, “Thanks, Varric. I was totally convinced otherwise.”

“Look. Just ‘cause you said move in starts at noon, doesn’t mean everyone is going to show up right at noon,” My friend handed me a coffee and took a seat on the step next to me.

“Thanks again,” I rolled my eyes, “I’m glad you have smart business sense, because I am fucking clueless,” I took a sip from the cup without thinking, singeing my lips and tongue.

“Did you just-?”

“Shut up!”

“You can’t even drink coffee, correctly. Maker, you are so lucky I’m here, Hawke.”

I grumbled, shifting the mug into both hands, “You know I’ve never met these people? Like, I know their names and a bit about them… But we’ve never met in person. I don’t even know what they look like. All of this happened so quickly before the semester started… I didn’t have time for decent recon.”

“Eh. I’m sure only two of them are axe-murdering Malificars,” Varric offered with a shrug.

“You’re a veritable cornucopia of reassurance.” I looked back at the old brownstone I had recently taken ownership of. It was true to its name; brown. And made of stone. But the wooden panelling was all deep red, and the ornate detailing a pale robin’s egg blue. A bit shabby from age, but otherwise, it looked sort of nice. Apparently my uncle Gamelen owned the place for years, and before him I guess my family on his side looked after it. When he passed away, it was left to my mother. But she wasn’t about to move out of Fereldan for a brownstone. That’s when I got the smart idea to live in it while I attend university in Kirkwall… But I couldn’t handle the ownership alone. I had to round up some roomies. Four of them. And they were supposed to be here…  
12:12  
… twelve minutes ago.

“Hawke?” There was a hand waving in front of my eyes, “Hey. Hawke. Where’d you go?”

I smacked the hand away, “To my happy place. Filled with booze, loud music, and room-mates that get to places on time.”

“Don’t look now, but I think you’re about to get your wish,” Varric elbowed me in the side as a taxi pulled up to the side of the street.  
I bounded to my feet. Trying to look competent and responsible. Though, I doubt I looked either, because I had forgotten to comb my hair, and I was wearing a pair of torn yoga pants. Ah yes. The visage of a capable land-lady.  
The person that stepped out… was not at all what I expected. She was about as tall as me, perhaps an inch taller. She was thin. If she turned side-ways, she’d look like a line-segment just standing there in the 3D world. Her hair was either brown or black. Black-ish brown? Brown-ish black? Brack? Blowwn? I snorted again. Dammit, me, now was not the time for clever word mash-ups! She tugged a few elegant suitcases from the back of the cab, and handed the driver a few sovereigns. When she turned around, I could finally get a good look at the first of my four tenants. She wore mainly earth tones. A simple loose taupe shirt, and a long green, floral-print skirt, under which was a pair of brown lace-up boots. Her hair was tied up in a sloppy bun, and it had all sorts of crazy hair-pins sticking in it, every which way. Damn, did she have big eyes! Owl-like. But in a cute way. Not in the, “I can swallow small rodents whole while you watch, horrified” way.  
She saw I was staring and smiled, “Oh! You must be Marian!” She took the few strides up the pathway to shake my hand, “I’m Merrill! I-I think you said I’d be living on the second floor?”

“Y-you’re Dalish,” I stammered, “I mean… I don’t mean to be rude or anything. I just- the… markings. And you said you were a student at KU?”

“Yes?”

“The Dalish don’t normally allow outside education, though, right?” I asked, flabbergasted.

“Wow, Hawke. Smooth. Just ask for her life’s story, why don’t ya?” Varric teased, standing up to shake this new girl’s hand as well, “I’m Varric Tethras. I guess you could call me the house bard slash accountant.”

“It’s alright!” the owl-eyes – Merrill—said, “And… it is Marian, right?”

“Oh. Hawke. It’s Hawke,” I said, “It’s only Mar if we’re dating.”

“I see. I’m sorry. Hawke it is!”

Merrill’s voice was light an airy and filled with kindess. She seemed nice. A bit too sweet, maybe, but nice. Maybe I haven’t fucked up so badly after all.  
I cleared my throat, “So yeah. You’ll be on the second floor. Is that all you have?”

“Oh, goodness, no. The van is running late,” Merrill said, twirling her skirt absent-mindedly, “These are all the important stuff. My books, my clothes, my toothpaste.”

“There are only two bedrooms on the second floor. You can have your pick ‘cause you’re the first one here. Did you want help moving stuff?” I asked, going to grab one of her mossy-green suitcases.

“That’s quite alright,” She said brightly, “I know a nice levitation charm I can spin. No point in getting all tired!”

I’m pretty damn sure my face lit up. “You’re a mage!”

“Yes. Is that alright?”

“It’s awesome! My dad was a mage! My sisters a mage,” I grinned, “… well… um… apostates, actually.”

“Thanks the creators. I hate having to hide. I’m dreadful at it! I’m going to move my things, if you don’t mind.” With one last sweet smile, she pulled her things into the house.

I had no chance to feel relieved about that not-disaster before a ritzy green car pulled up, towing a moving trailer. As soon as it came to a full stop, another woman emerged. This one… Well, to say she was beautiful was an understatement. And looking at her hair- it made me certain Merrill’s was only brown. This woman’s hair was the stuff of poems. Just looking at those dark waves made me want to pen some nonsense involving the words “Ebony splendour.” I shook my head. Again. Not the time for words.

“Uh, hi!” I reached out my hand, but it was met by one belonging to someone else.

“This is Isabela,” The other stranger said. An Antivan accent? Wasn’t expecting that. None of my tenants are Antivan. He was an elf. A decent looking guy, too. Dark skin, blonde hair, and an obvious penchant for showing off his body, which was covered in subtle yet striking tattoos.

“Zevran,” The woman said with a smirk, “You are not my handler. I can introduce myself, thank you.”

“Ah. Forgive me,” The elf laughed, “I was only attempting to be cordial. By all means, my dear, announce yourself.”

The woman took my hand and shook it heartily, “I’m Isabela. And the imbecile who drove me here is my…. Friend… Zevran. Don’t worry. He doesn’t bite unless asked,” She tilted her head with a flirtatious wink, causing the myriad of golden jewelry she wore to shine brightly. I felt like a cat getting distracted by something sparkly.

“Oh. Isabela! That’s a name I remember from the list!” I sighed in relief, “I’m Hawke. The land-lady, I guess? I’m still not used to it.”

“Zev is going to help me move my stuff inside. Is that okay?” Isabela asked me, heading back to the trailer and throwing open the door, “As if I’d ever do it all myself. That’s what Zevrans are for.”

“Uhhh…. Yeah. Whatever works,” I shrugged, “Do… you need more help?”

“Not at all. You seem queasy enough sitting out here with your thumbs up your ass,” Isabela laughed, “I wouldn’t dream of tearing you away.”

And with that my second tenant was moving in.

I took a sip of my quickly-getting-cold coffee, and took a moment to relax a bit. So far, these girls seemed like friendly people. Maybe having roomies would be fun! I had two more people showing up, but how bad could they be? I mean, I knew one of them already, so there was just the one wild card. And right on cue, because another car- an older model, grey and rusty, and spewing exhaust- pulled up to the curb.

The person that got out was as striking as Isabela… but for entirely different reasons. He was elven, with the palest hair I had ever seen. His skin was dark, but with a cold look to it, and he had a ridiculously sharp nose. In fact, most of his features were sharp, save for the oval glasses perched in front of his eyes. And what eyes they were. Green, I think? Or maybe Hazel? His clothes were shabby, and loose, and in tones of grey. But I hardly noticed any of that, because what little skin he had left exposed was covered in white markings. It was probably the second or third weirdest thing I had seen in my life. And I had seen some weird-ass shit in my day.

“Uhh….. Hey?” I managed to pry my eyes away from the markings on his neck and look him in the eye, “I can’t remember your name… um…”

He seemed to scrutinize me for a moment, then he turned back to his car, and produced a beat up parcel from the front passenger’s seat, “… Fenris…” He supplied.

“Right! Sorry. I have the worst blighted time with names!”

“Hm.”

“…. Okaaaay,” I took another sip from my now freezing coffee, trying to make things less awkward. It didn’t help, “Is that all you have? The one box?”

He turned to look at me again, narrowing his eyes, “… yes.”

“I see. I bet that… makes moving easy, huh?” I asked brightly. Maybe I can nice the awkward away? No one ever died from being too nice. Uh, scratch that. I bet someone has. Just no one I know.

“…. I suppose,” The lanky elf muttered, “You are Marian Hawke, then?”

“Just Hawke,” I nodded.

“And I’m Varric,” Varric added, “I don’t live here. But I’ll be around. And I’ve got a guy for everything. So you got a problem; you go to Hawke, she comes to me.”

“I see.” Fenris knocked the car door shut with his heel.

Yep. It’s official. This guy is weird. Like, super weird. I forced another smile. Maybe he was just shy, “You’re on the second floor, with Merrill. She got here first, so she got first pick of rooms. There’s a bed frame and a mattress in each room already. I’m on the fourth floor in the master suit.”

“That’s fine. Thank you, Hawke,” He walked past me, not even giving me a second glance.

Varric whistled as the front door clacked shut, “He is not a chatty fella, is he?”

I shrugged, “Maybe it’s nerves?”

“Nope. I told you one of them was an axe-murderer,” Varric nodded in mock solemnity, “I bet those tattoos- there’s one for every land-lady he’s killed.”

“Thanks. You’re a true friend.”

It took less time than I had thought to move everyone’s things into their rooms. Isabela had claimed the empty room on the third floor, and her stuff was already haphazardly strewn about like she had lived there for years. Merrill’s room already smelled like the forest. She had lit some oil-diffusers or something, and everything else in her little slice of timberland was Dalish craft. She grinned at me when I checked in on her. I liked this one. She was a keeper for sure. Fenris had only unpacked slightly. His laptop was sitting on the bed, and his clothes were folded and put in a corner. He was laying back on the bed, ear-buds in, listening to music. Better not to bother him, I decided. I mean, out of all my new roomies, he was the most likely to be a secret serial killer.

I pushed the thought of scary-possible-axe-killer-elf out of my mind, and headed downstairs to the kitchen. It was a bit out-dated and the stove was electric, but it looked like it would work just fine. I grabbed a few things from the refrigerator and pantry and made a huge plate of, like, a dozen grilled-cheese sandwiches.

“Who want’s sandwiches!” I called up the stairs. Without even a moments warning Isabela came crashing down into the kitchen.

“Fuck yeah free food,” she said, plopping herself down at the table, and grabbing two grilled-cheeses for herself.

Merrill came down soon after, followed suit by Fenris.

Once everyone had sat down and grabbed a bit of food, I stood up. Alright, Mar. Time to seem in charge and confident. I took a deep breath.

“Uh. Hey everyone. You’ve all met me. I’m Hawke, and I inherited this house from my uncle. I am sort of the land-lady? But really I’m more like your room-mate. I live on the top floor, and um…. There are three bathrooms. One down on this floor, which is only a half-bath. The one on the second floor, which is a full. And then mine, which is an en suite. So. Again. That’s mine. We each get two cabinets in the kitchen, and one fifth of the fridge space. Have you guys talked at all? We’re all stuck together, so we might as well be friendly.” Smile and wait for laughter. None. Ooookay, tough crowd.

Isabela spoke up first, “I’m Isabela. I’m from Rivain, and I like…. Hot people, hot showers, and cold ale. That’s about it.”

“Are we introducing ourselves then?” Merrill asked, “Then, well… My name is Merrill. I’m Dalish, so I don’t really have a ‘home-town.’ But, my clan usually stayed in Fereldan and the Free Marches. I like… Many things. Kittens, and flowers, and fresh bread, and books… and… well… so many things.”  
Everyone looked at Fenris, expectantly. He sighed, straightening his glasses, “I’m Fenris… I’m from Tevinter, and that’s all you need to know presently.”

“You’re one warm and cuddly guy, you know that?” Isabela asked, “Take off the specs, I wanna see your eyes!”

“No.”

“You’re no fun at all.”

There was a cold pause. Luckily it was cut short by someone familiar bustling through the door.

“Hey! Sorry I’m so late! You would not believe the day I had! My friend Lucy got thrown up on four times! And the routine appendectomy turned into something not so routine!” And there were arms around my shoulders, and a peck to my cheek, and everything felt a little brighter.

“Everyone? This is Anders,” I said, pulling him a bit closer to me, and gesturing to him like he was my show-and-tell project, “He’s a med student at the local clinic, and he’s living on the third floor across from Isabela. Aaaaaand, he’s also my main squeeze.”

“Uck. Main squeeze? I prefer “arm candy,” Thank you,” Anders grinned, “Now. I’d love to stay and make uncomfortable small talk with our new roomies, but there is an en suite shower callin’ my name. Can you hear it, guys? ‘Anders~ come get naked and get inside me~’ you heard it. Can’t argue with that.” He gave me one last quick kiss on the cheek before heading upstairs. And just like that our brigade of strangers was complete. This was going to be fun!.... I hope.


	2. The Weird Guy in My Shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is short! This fic is less in chapter style, and more in vignettes. some are short, some are long. So... uh... sorry again!

“So… That was Anders,” I said, sitting down and grabbing the one last grilled-cheese for myself, “Does anyone have any questions or anything? Any severe allergies? Weird habits? Dark secrets that haunt them in the waning hours of the night?”

Isabela snorted, “I’m an open book. There’s nothing that comes to mind, but you guys can ask me anything.”

“I-I worship the Elven pantheon, so forgive me if I don’t know your holidays and such,” Merrill offered meekly, “besides that, I’m afraid I have nothing as well.”

Everyone looked at Fenris again. This time he made a point of ignoring it.

“So, Fenris. You’re the only one with a car, so you get the parking spot. But I have a motorcycle, so that has to be parked next to it. Is that okay?” I asked. Now I was turning it into a game. How many words could I get from him before tomorrow?

“It makes no difference to me,” He said bluntly.

“Oh! Wait!” Isabela interjected, “I’ve got something weird! I love drinking and dancing while I do laundry! Anyone who has an issue with that can suck it!”

Merrill nearly giggled, “Oh, I can imagine it already.”

“You’re welcome to join me anytime,” Isabela said, giving Marrill the same wink she had given me.

I felt a bit of weight lift from my shoulders. These two got along. Maybe everyone would warm up to each other eventually. I took this start of pleasantry as a cue to dump the dirty dishes into the sink, and head upstairs to my room.

My room was quite a bit larger than the other tenants’, and it had bay windows. I felt a bit guilty, but hey- perks of being the boss, right? I had unpacked and decorated; there were fluffy comforters on the bed in my favourite shade of burgundy, and a mountain of pillows in shades of blue and grey. My uncle had left his bed-frame intact- a four-poster, which had been begging for a canopy, so I obliged, adding dark navy curtains. Feeling a bit homesick, I had hung the Fereldan flag under the top of the canopy, so I could see it while falling asleep. The walls were plastered with pictures; of me, and my younger siblings, my mother, out home in Lothering. There were newer pictures, too. Of Anders and myself exploring Kirkwall together. We had met when we both came touring, seeing if we wanted to live here. We struck it up, and had been attached at the hip ever since. Both figuratively and literally. I had a couple posters from bands and political rallies. Mostly the rallies Anders set up- he was a lynch-pin in the Mages’ Rights movement. In fact, if you ever went into his room, you’d trip over at least nine picket signs before even getting halfway in. I sat on the bed, with a sigh. It was nice. But it just wasn’t feeling homey yet. I cleared my throat.

“Anders!”

“Yeah?” Came the reply from the bathroom.

“Get the fuck out of the shower before you use all the hot water,” I shouted back.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” I heard the water shut off, and the shower-curtain rustle before Anders emerged from the bathroom wearing a towel and followed by steam, “Hey, sweetheart. How are our new weirdos?”

“Fine I think. How was the clinic?”

“Fine I think,” He teased lightly, “I mentioned that appendectomy?”

“Anders… you didn’t do anything risky, did you?” I asked, feeling a bit suspicious.

“Me? Risky? Absurd!” Anders gave me his best sarcastic grin, and I elbowed him in the ribs.

“You sure didn’t let loose a bit of Sparky-fingers?” I asked, in all seriousness.

“No, Mar. The head surgeons were right there. I didn’t use any magic. Just my smarts and charm. Promise.”

“Thank the Maker.” I took his hand and squeezed, “Sorry… you know I trust you, right? It’s just you love magic more than anything. And it’s crazy- being an apostate surgeon. Magic isn’t even legally allowed during surgeries anymore, unless requested by the—“

“I know, Mar. I know. We go over this every week!” He frowned, “I’m being careful. I just… need to be where I can do real good. And you know that.”

“Yeah I know. And that’s why I like you.”

“Ooh. Like? Not dropping the "L" word yet?”

“Shut up. I’ll say it when I say it. We’ve know each other four months. Moving on to a less defensive subject, Merrill, the one with the owl-eyes? She’s an apostate. So you don’t have to hold back around her. But… um? Maybe for the time being, stop being so flashy? Like the time with the broken coffee pot-“

“Fire boils water, Hawke-!”

“And the other time, with the micro-wave?”

“How was I supposed to know lightning wouldn’t help!?”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know the others well enough to figure out their stance on the whole Templar thing,” I said, quickly putting my hands on Anders’ shoulder, ready to rub them if this conversation took the tense turn I was predicting.

“The Templar thing,” He spat.

Yep. There it is. You go, me. You’re so smart.

“The Templar “thing”?” Anders asked, “The thing? It’s not a thing! Those gunned out, shield toting bastard wouldn’t know a wand from a spoon! I swear every time I turn on the news, it’s some young mage minding their own business, and winding up dead because the Templars are corrupt and prejudiced!”

“I know. Sorry I mentioned it…” I put my thumbs to good used, trying to knead out the knots forming in his shoulders.

He let out an exasperated puff of air, “No. don’t be. It reminded me I have another rally to organize.” He himself was putting his own thumb to good use, rubbing it over the massive scar on his right palm, where he had gouged out his Circle tracking chip himself. With a steak knife and some pliers, if I remember correctly, “You’re coming, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I kissed him with a smile, “Anything to make Templars uncomfortable.”

“And this is why I love you.”


	3. What's Up With You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another very short vignette! Longer ones to follow, I promise. (Maybe I'll draw some pictures for you guys while I'm at it)

The week before school began crept along at a slow but pleasant pace. We all got to know each other, we all started talking and hanging out together. Isabela had friends over a few times- her weird boyfriend, Zevran, and his equally weird pals. Merrill taught me how to make scented candles for the bathrooms and main floor, to cancel out the stale, musty smell, and she and Anders gave each other knowing looks, which must be an apostate thing. The only person not warming up was- you guessed it- Fenris. And I was getting irritated. 

I leaned on his shoulder as he sat on his laptop, and tried an emotional bridge, “So, Fen. “

“It’s Fenris.”

“So Fenris. What’s up with you?”

“What’s…. up with me?”

Okay, so that could have gone better. Re-group, re-group. You can do this. Master land-lady skills, feel free to manifest at any time, “Yeah. What’s up? I know something about everyone under this roof except for you: Merrill was exiled from her clan. She didn’t say why, I can tell it’s not fun. Isabela comes from a long line of Rivaini privateers! And Anders has escaped from the Circle seven times! As for me… I’m from Lothering, but my family lived in Kirkwall for generations. Now you.” 

He sighed, and straightened his glasses, “I lived most of my life in Minrathous. That’s all you get for now.” He closed his laptop and stood, heading back up to his room.

“Ooh. Capitol-boy! I’ll pry more out of you sooner or later!” I grinned, calling after him.

“You may certainly try,” was the stern response.

I let myself feel a little proud. It was progress at least.


	4. Okay. Seriously. What's Up With You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chocolate is vital. The fifth blight, the Qunari occupation of Kirkwall, the Mage/Templar war, AND the rifts in the veil could all be solved with the right kind of chocolate. This is fact.

The semester seemed to start abruptly, and we were all swamped with readings and assignments. If the tasks we had been given weren’t too awful, we would all sit in the lounge, reading to each other, and asking opinions. Merrill, my friend Aveline, and I were all in the same History of Thedas class, and we always ended up drinking spiked coffee and conferencing about the assigned chapters. 

“Merrill? Have you gotten to the section on the Tevinter Imperium yet? Damn, it’s dense,” I complained.

“It is quite the read… Of course they were in control of more than half of Thedas for a very long time,” She answered sipping from her favourite mug. 

I groaned and took my book to the floor, laying down on my stomach, preparing for a tedious read, “Oh… Huh. It says that slavery was one of the main businesses and exports of the Imperium. And it was only outlawed in Tevinter 90 years ago.”

There was a scoff from the corner. Fenris, who had said not a word all night. 

“Something funny, Fenris?” Aveline asked.

“Funny? Tch. No. Nothing is funny,” He said bitterly, “You Fereldans know nothing.” There was a hint of venom in his tone, and everyone in the room stiffened a bit. 

“A-about what? History?” I said, with a nervous laugh, “I’m taking a course, I’ll let you know how that goes.”

He stood, “I’ll be going to sleep. Try to keep your blinding ignorance to a dull roar.” He snapped his laptop shut, and just like with most conversations with Fenris, it ended with him walking back up to his room.

“Did he seem…? Angry to you?” Merrill asked quietly, “I hope it was nothing I did.”

“I don’t think so, Merrill,” I said, sitting up, “He’s… an elf, right? So maybe it’s a sore subject?”

“Yyyyyyeaaaah, um, pretty what you just said is racist,” Varric warned me.

“Shit. Yeah. Sorry…” I sighed, “It came out totally wrong. Maybe I should talk to him?”

“Talk?” Anders asked, dumping more kalua in his mocha, “With Fenris? I don’t think he can talk for more than two minutes at a time. You might short him out.”

“Don’t be a dick,” I said sharply, “I’m gunna try. But just in case-“ I grabbed the bottle of kalua and took a long swig, then headed to the kitchen, taking a box of chocolates from my stash. Perfect. Chocolate soothes all wounds. It’s the universal answer to everything. I steeled myself, and wandered up to the second floor. I knocked hesitantly on the predictably closed door, “Fenris? Uh, can you open up for, like, two second? I’m not going to pry, I swear. I’ll be the least Hawke-ish I can be. Tone down the Hawke-ing.” 

There was a small shuffling sound, and the door opened.

“Can I… uh… come in? Or do you want me to talk from here? I can stand and deliver. Ha… ha ha…” Oh Maker, this was uncomfortable. 

“It’s your house. Come in,” He said, backing away and sitting on his bed.

I entered slowly. There was still hardly anything in here. A simple desk and dresser, and a rickety nightstand proxy made out of empty wine crates. And everything was black or brown. There were no pictures, no posters, and no message boards. Nothing but blank walls and ramshackle furnishings. 

“I apologize for my outburst.”

I nearly had a heart-attack. He was sorry? Fenris? I was in shock.

“My anger has no place in your course-work. It was inappropriate,” He added, taking off his glasses, and setting them on the make-shift crate nightstand. He looked at me, expectantly. His eyes were patient, and calm. It was nice not to see anger there. 

“If I said something that offended you, you don’t need to apologize!” I insisted, “I uh- here!” I opened the box of chocolates, “These are my secret stash! I usual hold on to them for personal emergencies and my period. But it seems like you need them more right now.”

He took one, and looked it over, “You… think chocolates will solve this problem?” I waited for a scathing remark, but none came. Instead something even scarier happened. He chuckled, and on his lips there was something almost nearly smile-like, “That’s… ridiculous.” But there was no bite behind the insult. It was almost… fond. He unwrapped the chocolate and popped it into his mouth, “So. Is that all you wanted to say to me?”

“Y-yeah. Pretty much,” I nodded, still sort of dumbfounded, “you know how I said I would stop being so Hawke-y? Sorry, but… do you mind if I ask what the problem was?”

The coldness returned to his features, “Yes. I mind.”

“Oh. Alright. Sorry,” I said quickly, trying to back pedal, “I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll get out of your cave now.”

“Hawke?” Fenris interjected, “I may tell you. Eventually. Until then… I’m eating all your chocolates.”

I smiled, “Help yourself, you asshole. Chocolate solves the world problems.”

He gave the tiny half smile again, “If only that were true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm actually allergic to chocolate... I'm sorry, chocolate. Come back. We can work this out! It's all my fault!)


	5. Isabela's Weird Boyfriend's Weird Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short snippet. (FYI all this was pre-written by me a while back. So I'm literally just fishing through the stories and posting them in the best order)

I get into moods. It’s always been a malignant part of my personality. I get into moods, and the moods are extreme. Most of the time, for example, I’m a slob. Within reason! I don’t let the dished get covered in mould, and I don’t, like, leave the toilet unflushed or whatever. But most frequently, I drop trash wherever, and forget to do laundry for months. I started wearing a bathing suit as underwear once. But I digress. My moods can sometimes be a great thing. Like currently, I was furiously cleaning the kitchen and living room. The dishes had piled up, and we hadn’t vacuumed in weeks. The fact that I had two exams coming up, that I dreaded studying for had nothing to do with it. Not at all. But there I was, stripped down to one of Anders’ ratty tank-tops and stained sweat-pants, darting from place to place, while my roomies and company socialized. The aforementioned company was Aveline and Donnic, Varric, and Isabela’s weird boyfriend and his even weirder friend, whom I still didn’t know. 

They were doing normal stuff; watching a loud movie, and playing a drinking game (Take a drink every time there was an unnecessary close-up, a random pick up in dramatic music, and whatever the fuck else.) I huffed and stalked over to the sitting area, putting my hands on my hips. I even threw in a few impatient foot taps for good measure, “Could you please keep your feet off my table?” I asked, batted at the stranger’s feet, impatiently, “Seriously? Where were you raised?” 

“Oh, Andraste’s flaming tits,” He said, sitting up immediately, “Sorry ‘bout that!” 

“You- you-“ I said, scowling, “I don’t even know your name! Who the fuck are you?”

He smiled- big and dorky, “Oh, wow. Where are my manners? I’m Alistair!” He shook my hand.

“A-Alistair…?” I stammered. And the face was suddenly all too familiar. My heart jumped into my throat, “Alistair? P-prince Alistair?!”

He laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back on his neck, as if this was a normal occurrence, “Yeah… That’s me! Maybe I should get myself a code name? Do I look like I could be called Thomas or something?”

Oh Maker have mercy! I just yelled at the second in line to the Fereldan throne! But seriously. That? That was the prince of Fereldan? Maybe I’d make my Kirkwall residency a tiny bit more permanent.


	6. Playing for Mages

“Hello mages of Kirkwall!” Anders cheered into the microphone, getting a loud chorus in response, “Thanks for coming out here today. You know I always make time for you guys.” He played a gentle riff on his guitar, pausing to think, “You know. Sitting here, drinking and singing is pretty great-“ a loud, thunderous cheer from the crowd, accompanied by a few helter-skelter bolts of lightning- “But this isn’t gunna get jack shit done. We’ve got to band together. The only way to effect legislation and tear down the Circle is to vote and get involved. Take action! Stage protests!” 

More cheering. He really was good at this. He was personable, and energetic. At least he seemed that way at face value. I was the one who scooped a solid pound of Ivory 2 shade cover-up onto the bags under his eyes (and some sick-ass contour while I was at it). I shook my head with a laugh. It was time like these- where he was in his element, practically shining- when I considered telling him I loved him. Looking at him from behind and mentally gloating that I got to grab satisfying handfuls of that sweet mage ass was definitely helping ease the nerves that were contentedly knotting up my insides. I love being the centre of attention as much as anyone does. Maker, I love it. But what I was about to do was a bit much, even for me. 

“Anyways, Kirkwall, you’ve had me up here, talking and singing at you for a while now. How about we get some fresh blood up here, huh?—ooh. Uh… no blood magic implied, of course!- My sun and stars, my favourite person in all of Thedas; Marian Hawke!”

I shook my hands, as if doing so would fling any anxiety against the floor, and stepped out onto the stage, the base guitar strapped to my chest feeling heavy and awkward. I plastered a grin on my face and waved. Did I look stupid? Oh Maker, what if there was something in my teeth. How could I check without the entire audience noticing? I shook my head, getting a mildly concerned look from Anders. I tossed a bigger grin his way, and he relaxed, tugging me upstage.

“Just look at her, folks. Beauty incarnate- she’s no mage, but she sets me on fire. Give it up!” 

There were more cheers and a few rude whistles, which I ignored. 

“You wanna say something quick?” Ander asked, before tipping his microphone my way.

I blinked in surprise, “I dunno. Probably just don’t judge me. Anders has only taught me, like, five chords.” 

A few people laughed, which I found encouraging. If I couldn’t dazzle people with music, at least I was fucking funny. And it was true, Anders had only taught me five chords. He insisted that we try to perform together; “you have a lovely voice, Mar, come on.” He told me. Regardless of the fact that my voice was okay at best, and I didn’t know how to play the guitar at the time, I had agreed, and here I was, grinning despite my knocking knees and trembling fingers. Anders cast me another encouraging smile. It was enough to relax my fingers, and find the beginning chord positions. E. the chord was E. He nodded, and strummed the same chord on his own guitar, “You ready, Mar?”

I gulped, “F-fuck yeah.”

He cued the drummer- some ex-circle girl named Ruby, or Jade or something- and I followed, playing the monotonous baseline. As soon as he was sure I was steady, Anders turned and sang, leaving me to pluck out the tune myself. After a moment, the familiar pattern went back to being second nature, and I began having a good time- moving my feet and bit, dancing- probably looking like a drunken crazy person. But it was definitely fun. The loud sound of the drums in my ear, the satisfaction of hitting every chord at just the right time- it was energizing. I felt alive up on that stage. I could see why Anders was so addicted to the spotlight. Someone could get drunk on this feeling. I had always been a spectator at his mage rallies, never a performer. As the song came to an end, I felt flush and wired, like I’d taken a three-shot of espresso. 

I could get used to this.


	7. A Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short vignette. Sorry!

As the semester wore on, and summer shifted into fall, we all grew even close. We had bonfires, attempted to make spiced cider (a disaster, by the way), we even tried baking pumpkin cookies and other sweets. Fenris and I had still only spoken at length a handful of times, and the more we talked the vaguer his responses became before he withdrew entirely. He didn’t get along with Anders, and only tolerated Merrill. Isabela was the only one he seemed to have a shining for, however slight it may have been. So I once again attempted to pry him open like a clam.

“So, guy-from-Minrathous. I still want to get to know you. You live in my house and whatever. So Spill.” 

He actually made a displeased sound instead of just sighing. Going better already, “Tell you what, Hawke. Every time you manage to ingratiate yourself to me, I will tell you two new things about myself. Until then. Let it go. For the love of the Maker, let it go.” 

I blinked in surprise, “Uh. Yeah. Okay.”

“Thank you.” He said, and turned back to his essay.


	8. the Nano Bitch

Anders had gotten busy. And not, “I’m so proud of how dedicated he is,” busy, but “I haven’t seen your face in a week” busy. I would sit up into the evening, waiting for the ridiculously late hour when he was supposed to get off of work, but I would always get a text about some last minute surgery, or a meet-up with his rally apostate friends. Even worse, the texts became shorter and shorter. And I was getting angrier and angrier. Obviously I couldn’t be too furious. He was saving lives and changing the world, or whatever. What were you going to do, Hawke? Break into the O.R. and demand he come home, eat poorly prepared pasta, and watch you study? No. That would make you, what the scientific community calls, a mega-bitch. And you, Marian Amell-Hawke, are not a mega-bitch. You’re a nano-bitch at most. But yes. Anders was getting on my nerves. All of them. Every night, up until four or five in the morning, just sitting on my ass, waiting for my dumb-ass mage boyfriend to get home. Finally, it was Friday. Friday night, Anders had reassured me, Friday night, he would be home on time, and he would be bringing burgers and fries from the Hanged Man. 

I had said good night to everyone. Aveline and her fiancé, Donnic. Isabela who was actually out with Zevran and that other weird gingery dude. Merrill, who had pulled an all-nighter the night before and needed the sleep, and… well, actually, Fenris wasn’t home either. But whatever. So I was alone in this creaking old house, sitting on the sofa, picking at the label of my suds, waiting. Always waiting. It was 1:50am. My phone buzzed, and the pit in my stomach plunged to new depths. It was Anders. A text from fucking Anders.

“Need to stay allnite”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and sniffled. Of course. Of course, he did. Another buzz. 

“Srry, Mar.” 

Yeah, right. I tossed my phone into the couch across from me with an annoyed huff, “Fuck you, douche-bag.” I downed my beer and picked up another one. 

It all got a bit cliché after that. I had a few beers, and then I moved on to hard-cider, because why the fuck not? The next time I checked the clock, it was 2:45. I heard the front door open and close, and I looked over my shoulder, hoping to see the person I wanted to slap more than anything. 

“Ugh… It smells like a bar in here….” 

Fenris? It was Fenris. When had he been all day?

He looked me over and ran a hand through his hair, “this is a new level of pathetic, Hawke. Seriously. I can’t even look at you like this.”

“Anders,” I replied, as if this was the perfect answer. I paused a moment, realizing this explained nothing, “He’s not coming home. He sent me a text. A text!” I grabbed my phone and showed him. 

“… hm,” He set down his back-pack, and pulled a set of playing cards from the side-table, “grab me a cider. We’re playing wicked grace.”

I remember being unbelievably grateful. There was no reason for him to do that. The pit in my stomach filled with warm fire. I think I must have beamed, because I got that stupid half-smile back. I grabbed him a cider, and he dealt the cards, taking a drink. I don’t remember playing the game. I don’t remember who won or who lost, but I remember laughing and drinking and feeling happy.

“No! It’s your turn to pay up! That’s the rules!” Fenris said, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and gentle laughter.

“I dunno how they play in Minrathous, but those are not the rules here, you nug-humping dumb-ass!” I said, shoving him playfully in the chest. I was feeling wobbly, and the next thing I knew I was more or less in his lap, face to face. His eyes had gone wide in surprise, and he looked… adorable? Suddenly there was no space between us. I had closed the infinitesimal distance, pressing my lips to his. There was hesitance, confusion. Then passionate reciprocation. There were fingers in my hair, and heavy breathing in my ear. I pulled away, slowly, with half-lidded eyes, and flushed cheeks. Then there was shock.

“Maker!” Fenris clapped a hand over his mouth, horrified, which I found a bit hurtful.

“Finally!” I countered, “We’ve had this weird tension for months!”

“Us?” Fenris asked, astonished. 

I moved in a bit closer, taking off his glasses and setting them aside, “I always sort of thought you were no fun. But you’re actually a lot of fun…” My lips found his again, and I pushed all thoughts of Anders from my mind. This time there was no hesitation, his hands slipped under my shirt, and up my back. I took the hint, and moved back, allowing him to lift it over my head, “better?” I quipped, with a short laugh.

“Fuck yes,” Was his breathless reply.

“My turn, then,” I grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and yanked it off. What? Maker, the markings. They went all the way down his chest and arms, and looked like they went even further. He pulled back a bit, looking something between embarrassed and annoyed. I shook my head, and pressed my lips to his neck and shoulder. I had no idea what the big deal was, but they were beautiful, and I want to make sure he knew that. Other articles of clothing left us one by one, as did our inhibitions. There were so many other things I wanted to do, but the kisses- they were intoxicating. There was something behind them, something that I had been without for a long time. Passion? Novelty? I had no clue. But it was amazing. His hands found their way back into my hair, tugging gently, driving me nuts in all the best ways. He would bite down on my bottom lip every so often, as if to remind me there was urgency in what we were doing. 

“H-Hawke…” He panted, separating from me a moment, “Hawke, wait a moment.”

“Dammit, what’s so important?” 

He gave me a look, “I was…. Going to go get protection?”

“I have one in my wallet,” I said, producing it with a drunken flourish. 

“You… are the strangest woman I have ever met,” He smiled, starting again with more soft kisses. 

“Oh, like only men keep condoms in their wallets,” I scoffed, leaning in closer. Oh Maker, please don’t let any of our roommates get home early. As much as I was enthralled with the kissing and groping, I was getting impatient. I went out on a limb, and grabbed a hold of his ass.

He jumped a bit, “I get it, I get it,” he mumbled against my cheek, “Don’t rush me.” 

“C-can I rush you a bit? Just a little bit?” I whispered in his ear. I felt him shiver. Ha. Victory. Teasing was always my strong suite. Give me two minutes, and a motive, and I could tease royal secrets from a palace statue. Wait. That came out wrong. You know what I mean.

Of course, who was I fooling; as much as he was putty in my hands, I was putty in his. 

“Hawke, are you… You and Anders-“

“Fuck that guy,” I said, “You’re all I’m interested in right now. So come on. Impress me.”

And, Maker, did he. It was rough, passionate, and completely ferocious. I lived for every soft sound he made, trying to get him to raise his voice. There were scratch marks on my shoulders, and hickies on my collar-bones, and down my breasts. I hadn’t hit a high like that in months. And afterwards, my vision was literally swimming. I thought that was only something that happened in smutty novels for horny teenagers. Once my composure returned, and my chest stopped heaving, I just… laughed. Long and loud. 

Fenris looked at me, confused, “Are you alright?”

“Andraste’s knickers, I’m amazing. Don’t ask stupid questions,” I said, running my fingers through his sweat soaked hair, “you’ll ruin it.” 

“I’d hate to ruin the mood of our living-room floor hook up,” He muttered, reaching for his glasses.

“Oh shut up, Fen. It was good for you, too, and you know it. Pretty sure I have physical proof of that.”

He rolled his eyes, “You sit there and think whatever you’d like about me. But I’m going to the fourth floor. To use your shower…. You’re welcome to join me.”

The next morning I had a massive hangover and only snippets of the events, but I felt better than I had in a while. And it dawned on me that he had let me call him “Fen.”


	9. Closure, I guess?

The next day I was washing dishes; something every person in this house always forgot to do, when Fenris picked up a washcloth and stood by my side, holding out his hand. I handed him a plate, not sure whether or not eye-contact or verbal conformation was regulation after a drunken one night’s stand on the living room floor. I’d had a few one night’s stands before- the usual fare- attractive people at the local clubs, study buddies that got a bit too friendly- but I always had an out. I didn’t live with any of them. I only had to see a few of them fleetingly, during classes, or the hallways. I firmly decided that eye-contact was a definite no.   
He buffed the plate with the washcloth in silence, and set it aside, reaching out for another.

I scrunched up my nose, and held my breath, and handed him the next plate, trying to keep my words in my mouth where they belong, instead of out in the world making things awkward. “Hey Fenris?” So much for that.

“Hawke, can we… just do the dishes?” He asked flatly. 

“No… I don’t think so?” I told him, “kinda want to talk about it.”

“Well I’m afraid I’m not as eager as you.”

“I’m not eager, we should just talk about it. Isn’t that what people do?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Fenris said coolly. 

“… you know… like the movies. A little shifting awkwardly on the feet, some equally awkward chit-chat. Walking away feeling like something got resolved when really jack shit happened?”

Fenris set down the plate and gave me the most confused looked I’ve ever seen, “do you ever say anything sane?”

“I don’t think so,” I answered honestly, “come on, Fen. Humour me. I want to apologize.”

He sighed, “Apologize for what? I was more than half responsible.”

“Were you really, though? I literally threw myself at you. And you’d never expressed interest in me before.”

“You are attractive, and I was intoxicated. What more do you want me to say?” Fenris folded his arms over his chest, “I enjoyed what happened. But you are otherwise connected, and I have no interest in romantic entanglement.”

I snorted, “Romantic entanglement?”

“You know what I mean.” 

“You just said ‘romantic entanglement’!” I said, “What is this? CSI Kirkwall?”

A soft blush broke out over his nose and cheeks, and he turned back to the dishes, taking over for me, scrubbing furiously at what appeared to be baked-on cheese, “my fancy words aside, can we both agree that what happened last night won’t happen again?”

“I think so.”

“Excellent. Now help me with this mess,” he shoved the frying pan at me. 

“Unless…” 

“Fasta Vass, Hawke… no “unless.” No unless!” Fenris said, turning to look at me again, this time, irritated. 

“Yeah, you’re right, we shouldn’t-“

He surged forward, cutting me off with a hard kiss, before pulling back and returning to the chore at hand, “there. Closure. Now, please. Can we finish this? I think some of these plates are growing limbs.”

I stared blankly at the wall for a solid minute, not quite sure what just happened. But it seemed final, whatever it was, “uh, yeah. Sure… hand me that towel.” And that was the end of that.


	10. A little list of facts

I have hit some serious writer’s block, so have a list of fun facts about the Amell House residents!  
• Merrill writes everyone thank you notes. All the time. For the most trivial of things. Once, she wrote Varric a thank you note for holding the door for her. They are written in impeccable calligraphy, and covered in either flower stickers, or tiny doodles of woodland creatures- usually tiny Halla or birds.  
• Marian never does laundry. Once, she bought new sheets instead of washing the ones in the hamper. After that, Anders held an intervention for her.  
• Fenris only owns two pairs of jeans, five shirts, one sweater and a beat up pair of combat boots one size to big. (The reason for this will be explained). Isabela asks him if he’d like to go shopping all the time, but he doesn’t have the money, and refuses to be loaned any from anyone.  
• Merrill’s go to outfit is a floral skirt, plain blouse and cardigan, a fun belt, leggings, and lace up boots. When it isn’t based off of that outline, it’s a cute dress. When she’s feeling especially Merrill-y, she wears a wide-brimmed sun hat with a bow.  
• Isabela does Hawke’s laundry when it piles up, in exchange for use of the larger shower in Hawke’s room. The system works well, but Bela never cleans her hair from the drain. (Neither does Anders, actually.)  
• It took Hawke three months to ask for Alistair’s name.  
• Varric is a screenplay writer, and works as a radio storyteller, where he reads his latest romance stories. It’s very popular. So popular, he gets freaky fan-letters, which he reads aloud with Hawke over beer.  
• Said fan-letter readings resulted in a drinking game. Every time a fan uses an especially lewd adjective (i.e. quiver, tremble, moist), take a shot of Antivan Fire Whiskey. As the game grows to include the entire friend group, votes are taken on the lewdness of the words. If over half the attendees cast a vote for lewdness, everyone drinks.  
• Zevran isn’t Isabela’s boyfriend. Not even close. They are closer to friends with benefits.  
• “Isabela’s weird boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s weird friends” is Zevran, Leliana, Alistair, Oghren, and Tabris. Since it’s no real secret that Zevran is a hitman, Hawke believes his friends are hitmen as well.  
• Isabella owns 25 bras.  
• Hawke wears boxers most of the time, unless her outfit doesn’t allow for that sort of extra material.  
• Fenris is on a ton of medications. Hydrocodone (prescribed for pain. He takes it for his chronic pain caused by the markings), Trazadone (for his depression and PTSD), Quetiapine (A nightly mood stabilizer). He also takes an over the counter blood pressure medication, known to prevent night-terrors. Smokes marijuana when he can, calms him down, but makes him spill his guts, so he tends to do it alone.  
• Merrill can’t walk in heels to save her life.  
• Anders was a Circle mage for most of his life. The Circle is still on oppressive entity- more like a juvenile prison than the boarding school most non-mages think it is. Each mage is given a tracking chip in their palm. Anders did, in fact, escape, and pried the thing from his hand with an old knife and a pair of jeweller’s pliers. When he tells people, they disregard it, but it’s all true.  
• Anders forged himself some ID and enrolled in medical school, having been trained as a spirit healer in the Circle.  
• Aveline is a law enforcement major with a double minor in Fereldan history and communications.  
• Zevran carries a handgun wherever he goes. Her name is Claudia.  
• Fenris hates wearing socks. He finds them restrictive.  
• Isabela is a smuggler. She works with the Crows like Zevran does, moving things in an out of Kirkwall from the safety of her room in High-Town.  
• Hawke’s siblings are back in Lothering, completing their last year of high-school.  
• Most mages have both a Wand and a Staff. Staves are inefficient these days, being too large to carry in crowded cities. Most young mages learn to conduct magic through staves first, then wands. Furthermore, most mages- apostates or registered magic users- carry a Wand with them at all times.  
• The Templars are like a strange combination of the military and the police. Each city has a base, which reports back to the head Chantry in a country’s capitol. Theses chantries report back to the original Chantry in Val Royeaux. The templars wear something akin to a police uniform, in navy blues and reds. They carry special shields that fold into what looks like a single metal triangle, but fan out to become a round shield emblazoned with the Order's symbol. The shield is enchanted to reflect magic, and the Kevlar they wear under their shirts is as well. They're an intimidating group of people and though their main function is the same as it has always been, they make people nervoud more than they make them feel safe.  
• Fenris has impeccable manners in there somewhere. He has a strange set of skills that range from skill at darts, to baking. He also seems to speak a few languages at a rudimentary level, including Orlesian, Tevene (of course), and Qunlut. Nobody can figure out where he learned these things (but it will be revealed later.)  
• Varric and Anders both play multiple instruments. Anders plays almost any form of guitar, and the violin (he was taught at the Circle. Supposedly violin teaches controls and discipline.) Varric also plays the guitar, though human-built guitars are a bit large for him. He plays the ukulele, and he taught himself how to play the pan-flute while drunk once. Merrill can play the reed flute, and Hawke is learning to play the bass with Anders’ protest group.  
• That’s it for now!  
• Sorry I didn’t have a chapter for you, I’ll update soon!


	11. Templar Heads

Autumn was waning fast. Delightfully crisp afternoons filled with sharp sunlight and crunching leaves, had faded to chilling nights of cloudless stars. Harvest season was coming to an end, and as such I found myself with a large bag of overripe apples, sent up from Lothering by my mother. 

Not fond of the apple tarts Merrill so eager made (everyone yelled at me, insisting they’re to die for, but I’ve never been a fan of baked fruits) I needed to find a use for partially turned apples quick, before my house smelled worse that the Blight itself. The obvious answer- or maybe not so obvious- came to me mid swig of fire whiskey. I grabbed the bag of fruit and ran downstairs, calling for everyone to meet in the den. Five minutes later, I was surrounded by my confused tenants, and Varric, who appeared to have fallen asleep on the living room floor, face planted firmly into his laptop keyboard. 

“Hawke, what’s this about? I was in the middle of…. Uh… typing the letter “G” with my face…” He asked, brushing his hair back from where it was stubbornly stuck to his cheeks. 

“Game!” I said emphatically, jiggling the apple-bag for double the impact.

“Though I marvel at your command of the King’s Language, and the emotion behind your every waking breath, you’ve lost me.” 

“There were old rackets in the basement, right?” I asked, casting a betrayed look at Varric, “Merrill… you’re the only one here not afraid of that creepy hole. You go.”

Merrill blinked, “Me? Fenris isn’t afraid of it! Why should I go?” 

“He didn’t come downstairs,” Anders told her, “Come on. I’ll go with you. Two mages are better than one, right?” 

As the two of them started down the creaking stairwell to the basement, I turned back to my remaining troops, “Okay. I need shot glasses.”

“That’s what I like to hear! I’m on it, doll!” Isabela practically mad-dashed into the kitchen, and I heard tell-tale clinking in the distance.

Merrill and Anders came back up with two shoddy looking rackets, and once Anders had been consoled about the spider that had landed in his hair, and Isabela had been convinced that hoodie-pockets were not an optimal transference system for petite glassware, I eagerly explained. 

“Now everyone take two shots of this,” I passed the Antivan fire whiskey (courtesy of Zevran, by the way. Said he’d “gone through some shit” to get it. I didn’t ask), and nodded in approval while my friends downed shots obediently. Wow. Who needs blood-magic when you can manipulate your friends with the shear promise of entertainment? Good thing I use my powers for neutral mischief rather than ravenous manslaughter. Once everyone was done hacking and pretending that whiskey was delicious, I continued.

“We’re going to take these… sweet little orbs outside, and hit them with rackets. If you miss, take a shot. I call it… uh… it doesn’t have a name yet, I’ll work on that.” 

“This sounds marvellous. I love everything about it,” Isabela said, “But I think we’re short someone.”

Fenris. It was always Fenris. If there were two things he was probably allergic to; they’d be socks and socializing. 

And there was the slight matter of the fact that we had recently gotten “better-acquainted” over a crap load of alcohol and I think maybe a card game. 

“Alright. Let’s go get him, I guess…” I sighed, “I mean, who can honestly say no to alcohol and fruit murder?” 

So we call clamoured up the stairs, feet clomping as we went, bursting into Fenris’ room, to which he was startled, and then viably irritated. 

He removed the ear bud from one of his ears and sighed, “Hello…”

“Fenris-“

“We’re playing ‘Templar Heads’,” Anders blurted out with a buzz induced laugh.

“It’s… not called that,” I chuckled, “We’re hitting those apples I got in the mail with rackets in the back. You miss you take a shot.”

“… No thank you,” He said, moving to put the earbud back to its usual location. 

“Oh come on, Fenris,” Isabela said, tugging the earbud out of his hand, “you never do anything with all of us.”

“There’s a reason for that,” He said coolly. 

This was met with sounds of personal injury, and hurt pride from everyone in the group. I myself, was offended that we hadn’t grown on him as much as I liked to think. I had gotten it in my head that he enjoyed our company, at least at a reasonable level. I thought he was more than what he outwardly seemed- or what Anders made him out to be. Of course, this train of thought was currently being fueled by whiskey. 

“Alright, alright,” He said, sitting up a bit, “What are we drinking?”

Everyone cheered, and headed to their separate rooms to bundle up. Fenris himself grabbed a ratty wool scarf, and wrapped it around his neck and shoulders, and a knitted beanie, tugged over his pointed ears. 

“You know, you don’t have to give in to the mob,” I said, standing in his doorway with what I hoped came across as aloof interest and not borderline clingy friendship. 

“No, it… sounds entertaining. Thank you for inviting me,” He replied, giving me a small smile, “Tell me. Why is it when you and I are together, there is always alcohol in the mix?”

“It makes me seem less obnoxious?” I offered, “It has been prophesized? It burns in the good way? Take your pick.” 

He shook his head in what I was hopefully calling wry amusement, “Your flock is calling you.” 

“Better give ‘em what they want,” I shrugged, before joining everyone outside. 

I was greeted by slightly tipsy whooping, a cold breeze, and a heavy-handed hug from my grungy mage, who always got like this when pumped full of intoxicants; handsy, and prone to putting his full weight on people, places, and things- any noun within a ten foot radius. Happy smiling, slightly rosy faces. My friends, wrapped in layers of cosy autumn clothing, and decent drink, and rotten apples. Nothing better.

I lovingly shoved Anders aside, and watched as Fenris trotted out into the yard at last.

“Alright! Now that we’ve got all our elves, let’s get cracking!” I handed Merrill one of the rackets and Anders one of the apples, “anyone gets hit in the face, I don’t know you, and law suits should be addressed to this man here.” I gestured to Varric. 

“And I will ignore them to the best of my ability,” He agreed. 

“Anders, if you please?”

He grinned, “With pleasure, my dear.” He wound his arm back, and lobbed the fruit as fast as he could, and Merrill swung the racket, making contact, and sending cloying sprays of sugary juice, and dilapidated chucks flying across the yard. The others exploded into laughter and cheers, and Isabela poured Fenris the two shots he had neglected earlier. Anders took up the racket, and stuck a determined pose.

“Lay one on me, then,” He dared, “Anyone? Come on, just try it.”

Fenris coughed, having slammed back two rapid-fire shots, and picked up another apple, “I accept your challenge, mage.” 

“Oh no way, I’ve seen your arms. I want Isabela to do it,” Anders said. 

“That’s kaffas, you asked if anyone would throw it,” Fenris said, scowling slightly. 

“Oh just give it to Isabela. She’ll throw it just as well,” Merrill told him. 

“Aw. Thank you, kitten! Move over, specs, I’ve got this,” Isabela bumped Fenris aside with a swing of her hips. She drew her hand back, ignoring Fen’s subtle tevene curses, and threw the apple with all her might, hitting Anders in the gut. He fell over winded, and Fenris stopped cursing long enough to give her an appreciatory nod. 

Anders moved over to the side-lines in a motion that I can only describe as “caterpillaring,” letting a long groan out like the souls of the damned. I was torn between laughter and worry, deciding on laughter, passing him a shot of Fire Whiskey, as a panacea to his newly bruised innards. He took it gratefully, gulping it down before declaring, in a winded wheeze:

“Next time the elf does it.” 

At which everyone cackled. 

It continued like this until the sky blazed orange and purple, and the underside of the clouds shone gold over the trees. We were all covered in apple juice, bits of fruit in our hair, whiskey burning in our bellies and flushing our cheeks. We were winded, arms sore from swinging, and lungs strained from laughter. A good day. We all toasted one last shot of drink, knocking back our glasses to a merry afternoon of blissful destruction. 

I sat next to Fenris, who had tugged his scarf up to his nose, and his hat low on his head. 

“Hey?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry I… sat on your private parts.”

He snorted, covering his laughter with his gloved fingers. After a moment, his mirth subsided and he looked over at me, an easy calm spread over his features, “We’ve had this discussion. It’s fine.”

“I know. But I… I needed to say it again. Because at some point I’m going to tell Anders,” I explained, “I need to tell Anders. It’s… gotta happen.”

“I understand, Hawke.” 

“But uh, thanks. For a good time today.”

“… Caramels.”

I looked at him, baffled.

“I like Caramels. The soft kind. And I love thunderstorms- the- the colours. The blues and greys. I like that.”

“What?”

“Our deal, remember?” He said, with a light smile, “I’m a man of my word.” 

“Oh. Right. Uh. I like hard caramels, and I like hot rainy days,” I offered in response. 

“Interesting,” Fenris said. 

And as the dusk faded below the trees and rooftops of hightown, we all shuffled inside, warming our cold-nipped fingers and noses, and me, making a mental note to buy caramels.


End file.
